


Lies and Ties that Bind Us

by rebaobsessions



Series: Leverage Immortals [1]
Category: Highlander: The Series, Leverage
Genre: Episode: s04e10 The Queen's Gambit Job, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 11:50:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12387510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebaobsessions/pseuds/rebaobsessions
Summary: Nate and Jim have been friends for a very long time. They just don't always know how to show it...They're each neck deep in their own form of trouble, but they can only help each other so much.





	Lies and Ties that Bind Us

**Author's Note:**

> Ok. This has been a long time in coming. I know I have a lot of different ideas hanging out there already, but I've been wanting to do this FOREVER. Well, since I discovered Highlander.  
> This is currently a one shot, and while I may be convinced to expand it, right now ALL I want to do is get one short(ish) fic into this new series saying "what if one of them were immortal?"  
> This one is Nate. Nathan Ford has been so many things, but first... first he was Neil.

Nate jogged through the lobby of the impressive sky scraper, trusting Eliot to handle the terrorist goons, focused on a single goal. A steady buzz rattled just behind his eyes, guiding him as he exited a final door to the sight of a black sedan pulling away with purpose. As far as Nate was concerned, the car could be a minivan and he’d still know that it was _that car_ that he needed to follow.

Thinking on his feet, Nate slipped past the valet and into a newly parked, and rather elegant, red sports car. It would do. Once he was speeding down the road, he spared a thought for the con.

“Ok, we’re done; everyone out,” Nate ordered, certain his com would pick it up, “Hardison, Eliot’s here— ground floor —find him, free Sophie. Everyone’s in the extraction points.”

 _“Woah, woah, Eliot’s_ here _?”_ Hardison’s voice echoed in his ear.

“Yeah, just follow the trail of terrorists, you won’t miss him,” the mastermind assured his hacker.

 _“Where you going?”_  the hacker moved on to the next issue.

Nate allowed himself a shadow of a smile, “I’m going after Sterling.”

 _“Where’s_ he _going?”_ Hardison persisted.

“Well, he’s escaping with the target.”

 _“How’d Sterling get the weight?”_ Parker pitched in, sounding out of breath.

“No. The real target.” Satisfied his team had the situation under control, he didn’t wait for any sort of response. He simply pulled his earpiece out with one hand a stuffed it in his pocket, before refocusing on the task at hand and the humming in his head. He didn’t need an audience for this.

There. A black sedan—that was the one. Nate hit the gas, in hot pursuit. As though sensing his renewed pursuit, the sedan whirled around a corner. Unperturbed, the mastermind hit the break and spun the wheel, hurling around the corner at break-neck speed, tires screeching as they slid across the pavement underneath him. Ahead he could see the black sedan accelerating and swerving, paying no mind to the yellow lines. Tongue pressed against his teeth in concentration, Nate gunned the gas and shifted the stick, rapidly gaining in his (stolen) flashy red sports car.

The two cars toyed with each other, swerving back and forth as the black sedan repeatedly blocked the sports car from slipping past. Finally, though, Nate saw and opening and hit the gas with all he was worth, speeding past the larger car in a blur. For two heart beats Nate continued straight, before hitting the break with even more gusto than he had the gas, swerving to a stop directly in the path of the sedan. Calmly, the thief turned in his seat to observe his quarry grind to a stop mere feet from where he sat.

With a faint smirk gracing his lips, still riding high on adrenaline, Nate stepped from his car as the other driver mirrored his actions. The scowl on Sterling’s face was legendary. Nate could count on one hand the number of times he had seen this particular flavor of the sour man’s displeasure. See, this flavor was the most real and the most _dangerous_ of them all.

“You going to leave without saying goodbye?” Nate poked, adjusting his suit jacket.

Sterling’s scowl deepened, darkening the harsh lines outlined on his face in the scorching sunlight. “Nate,” the man greeted his old friend with something just short of a growl. This was the most righteous of anger—the anger they only ever showed for family.

But, Nate being Nate, he had no sense of self-preservation (being immortal did that to you), and kept poking, “Honestly, _Sterling_. I was hoping we were done with this.”

“And what, _exactly_ ,” the Interpol agent enunciated in his ever so careful accent, “is ‘this’?”

“The lies, Jim, the lies,” the mastermind leaned back onto his stolen vehicle, easily mimicking relaxation and concealing the slight pang of hurt he hadn’t even known he had been harboring.

“I had to get my informant out,” Sterling argued, eyes narrowing slightly, “When Olivia’s mother died, she turned on Livingston— fed Interpol everything we needed.”

“Stop insulting me, Sterling,” the thief cut in, causing Sterling’s eyebrows to shoot up.  “I knew she was the informant as soon as I found the source of the buzz.” Nate paused and searched his friend’s face, “Did you really think I wouldn’t figure out she was your daughter?”

Sterling’s face was suddenly and completely blank. “You know that’s not true,” the other immortal murmured, uncharacteristically subdued.

Nate shook his head, his heart giving a twang in sympathy, “It’s true in every way that matters,” he argued just as softly.

Sterling said nothing, his face still painfully blank.

After a beat of silence, Nate sighed, “But, why? You used us, you manipulated the team. You lied to me. Again. Was it too soon to hope for honest friendship? Did last time even qualify?”

Sterling’s jaw ticked. “Would you have come to Dubai if I had told you?” he asked pointedly, trying to redirect the conversation.

“No. No, you _know_ I would have, but that’s not what this is about, _Jim_.” Once again, Nate emphasized the name. This time, Sterling flinched. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there.

“No. I’m talking about before that,” Nate continued, “Back when we were last friends—this most recent time, when we _worked_ together, drank together, _watched each other’s backs_ ….” Nate shut his eyes for a split second, “You had a wife and daughter, and I didn’t know. Why?”

“Because it was my fault they left,” Sterling offered, voice quiet once more, “And I knew it.”

Nate nodded in understanding. “They found out about the Game.” It wasn’t a question.

“Sharron thought it was safer they move on,” Sterling shrugged, “I didn’t argue.”

“Not even for Olivia?”

“She deserved to have a normal life, Nate. I wouldn’t take that from her.”

“What changed?” Nate asked with an honest curiosity, “Besides Livingston being dirty, that is.”

Sterling shrugged, “Sharron died; Olivia reached out.”

“And?” he pushed off the car to stand straight once more.

Sterling’s gaze snapped up to meet his. “And _what_?”

“We both know you’d need more than that, _Greg_ ,” Nate veiled the old barb against the MacGregor clan with a jovial tone.

“Don’t _call me that_ ,” he hissed and took a step forward, a brogue slipping into his voice as he continued, “I will’na allow you to insult ma’ clan ev’n now—”

“Easy, Jim,” Nate interrupted, “Just tell me what has you spooked.”

Sterling’s lips thinned.

Nate scowled, “I just want to help, you stubborn bastard! You have a new pre-immortal student—you can’t be looking over your shoulder and fielding challenges right now!”

“This does not concern you, _Neil_ ,” the other man growled, carefully enunciating once again.

Nate huffed angrily, “Be logical, Jim! You can’t—”

Their slowly escalating argument was effectively cut short by a car door opening and slamming shut.

Sterling whirled around, “No, get back in the car—”

“He didn’t have a choice! You can’t challenge him—he didn’t have a choice!” Olivia interjected, attempting to diffuse the situation she perceived, “It’s not safe here. I was in danger and he’s my dad. I don’t care what you people say; he’s my dad and I need him. What wouldn’t you do to save your kid?!”

“Olivia!” Sterling admonished her, likely knowing how hard that barb hit Nate, how it skewered him like a hot rod, bringing the all too recent death of Sam back to the fore-front of his awareness.

Olivia glared at her father, tears glistening in her eyes, “No! This isn’t ok, dad. You were just protecting me from Livingston and Maycher!”

“Charles Maycher?” Nate asked sharply. The man was a well-known headhunter who went after pre-Immortals, capturing, torturing, killing, and finally—sometimes after years—beheading them. The only reason he was still in the Game was because he had no honor, using guns and poison indiscriminately, and was unnaturally slippery and good at disappearing.

Olivia and Sterling’s reactions were telling; Olivia blanched, and Sterling instinctually moved closer to her.

Nate let out a colorful curse in old Irish Gaelic. “James _bloody_ MacGregor,” he hissed, “I will _not_ allow you to do this by yourself.”

“And I told _you_ , Neil,” the other immortal hissed right back, “This _does not concern you_!”

“Of course this concerns me!” Nate snapped, “I will not allow my oldest friend to be stabbed in the back by a _snake_!”

“And how, exactly, would you explain it to your little team?” Sterling sneered.

Nate threw his hands up, “I’ll figure out _something_ , Jim, just let me _help you_.”

“You don’t train new immortals.”

“I helped train _you_.”

“And you were a _shit_ teacher.”

“Then… let me help provide protection.”

“No, Neil, you aren’t up for that—we both know you’re not.”

“Bullshit.”

“You won’t leave your team, and you know it.”

“I’ve left them before.”

“They won’t let you go.”

“I’ll _make_ them.”

“You still wouldn’t be ready.”

“To hell I wouldn’t!”

“What about Sam?!”

Olivia’s eyes had gone wide, her eyes bouncing between the two immortals like she was watching a tennis match. As a deafening silence descended between the two, she took in a deep shocked breath.

Nate’s jaw was clenched tight and he was glaring a hole in his friend’s forehead, eyes beginning to moisten. Sterling swallowed hard, and carefully collected himself before continuing.

“Can you honestly tell me, _Nate_ ,” Sterling emphasized his friend’s current identity, “that you’d be ready to fully get back into the Game so soon after Sam died?”

Nate’s voice was flat, “Fine. You win.” He took a deep breath, regaining some of his fire, “But I still won’t let you do this by yourself.”

Sterling rolled his eyes. “What, exactly, do you suggest?”

“Call Mac.”

 “What?" Sterling jerked back as though he had been slapped, "I most certainly will not!”

Nate was not surprised by Sterling’s knee-jerk reaction. “I’m not arguing with you about this, Jim. Either you call MacLeod, or I will.”

Sterling narrowed his eyes. “Which one are you talking about?” he ventured cautiously.

Nate rolled his eyes, “Duncan.”

“No.”

“Jim…”

“ _No_.”

“Dad…” Olivia surprised them both; they had forgotten she was there. “If this Duncan can help us, shouldn’t we ask?”

Sterling looked like he had sucked a lemon.

“Look, I know you and MacLeod have had problems for centuries, but I know for a fact that he considers you a friend. He’s a great teacher, and an even better swordsman.  He can watch your back.”

Sterling clamped his eyes shut, and Nate was certain he had heard what was unspoken: _because I can’t_.

“Fine,” he growled, echoing Nate, “You win.” He opened his eyes and glared at his old friend, “Tell the Highlander Olivia and I are headed to Paris.”

“Thank you, Jim.”

“Save it, Byrne.”

Nate wrinkled his nose at that, but let it slide. “Listen, can you do one thing for me?”

“I thought I already was,” Sterling snarked back.

Nate stepped forward and held out a folded piece of paper. Sterling quirked and eyebrow, but accepted it. “What’s this?”

“It’s a name. Give me everything you got on him. Everything.”

Something in his voice must have tipped the other immortal off, because he narrowed his eyes in concern. “What sort of mess have you gotten yourself into, Neil?”

Nate gave a wry chuckle and turned to leave, “A mess that’s a great deal less _permanent_ than yours. Watch your head, MacGregor.”

“Always, Byrne.” Sterling promised his friend’s retreating back, “Always.”

Nate didn’t hear; his mind was already on to the next problem. He needed to go wrangle his team back home and track down a highlander’s phone number. After that, well… then he’d worry about that name.

**Author's Note:**

> Nate= Neil Byrne. Born in Ireland, 1393.  
> Sterling=James MacGregor. Born in Scotland, 1453.


End file.
